Speechless
by chocolatequeen
Summary: How can you find the words to say in two minutes what you thought you would have a lifetime to say? Doomsday ficlet.


**AN:** Another of my Doomsday ficlets. This one was inspired by two separate gifsets, one of Rose telling him she loves him, and the other of the look on the Doctor's face when the transmission cut out. We tend to focus on how it felt for Rose to not hear him say the words, but it struck me when I was writing this that it would have been at least as awful, if not worse, for the Doctor. There was just one more thing he could do for Rose, and he ran out of time. And in that mental state, who knows what he would have done if Donna hadn't shown up right away?

How could she manage to express in two minutes what she thought she'd have a lifetime to say? How could she sum up all the loving gestures and tender kisses and teasing looks and private jokes that mean more than just, "I love you?"

To quote The Princess Bride, maybe if she had a month to plan, she could write the perfect two minute speech that would contain everything she wanted to say. But she didn't. She didn't have any time–their two minutes ticked down while she looked for the words. And so she talked about things that didn't really matter. What she was going to do with the rest of her life (all the time she thought they'd share with each other). New babies (a harsh reminder of what they'll never have).

But when the seconds ticked down, she realised the words she was looking for didn't exist. Because what she really wanted were words that meant this wasn't goodbye forever, and if the Doctor didn't have those words, then neither did she.

In the end, there were only three words she could give him, three words that would tell him how much he meant to her, how much she missed him, how much it hurt to think this was the last time they'd ever see each other. Three little words–they didn't sound like much, and yet, they meant everything.

"I–I love you," she managed to say through choked-back tears.

And he smiled, but it was the smile of heartbreak, the smile that said he knew why she was finally saying what they'd always left unsaid. He knew what they were losing, too, and it hurt him just as much.

"Quite right, too."

His Adam's apple bobbed, the emotion almost too much for him. Guilt washed over her. He'd always been afraid of losing her, but she'd convinced him that the joy they could find together would be worth the eventual loss. How could either of them have known the inevitable would come so soon?

"And I suppose, if it's my last chance to say it…"

She sucked in a breath. When she'd said the words, she hadn't dared to hope she'd hear them back. It was her need to tell him that had driven her to speak, her need for him to know that this wasn't how she'd wanted their story to end. She stared at him, her heart in her throat.

"Rose Tyler, I–"

The Doctor disappeared, and Rose crumbled. Everything she'd ever wanted to hear from him had been in his voice when he'd said her name. The love, the promise, it was all there. But the words he'd wanted to say remained stuck in his throat, and she wished he could have said them, for his own sake. So he wouldn't feel like one more thing had been taken from him.

Her mum wrapped her arms around her, and Rose sobbed against her shoulder. Other than those choked sounds, she was silent, because what could you say when you'd just lost your world?

oOoOoOoOo

"I—I love you."

In all the times he'd dreamed of hearing those words from Rose, he'd never imagined the agony of being unable to kiss the sweet lips the words fell from. Tears stained Rose's cheeks, and the Doctor's hand twitched by his side as he started to reach out to wipe them away.

He couldn't kiss her or wipe away the tears, but there was still something he could give her, one last gift for his precious girl. He swallowed back tears of his own and forced a smile. "Quite right. And I suppose, if it's my last chance to say it..."

He had to stop for a breath there. How could this be his last chance? She'd promised him forever only a few weeks ago. They were supposed to have all the time in the universe, all the chances to tell her how much he loved her.

But they didn't, and she needed the words. "Rose Tyler, I—"

She disappeared. The air was still vibrating with all the love he put into saying her name, but he hadn't actually managed to get the words out before the crack closed and Rose was lost to him forever.

His mouth was still open, ready to form the next word, the most important one, and he could taste the tears streaming down his face. How was this fair? He'd wanted to give her this last thing to hold onto, and instead he'd left her before he could get the words out.

The Doctor's mouth clicked shut, and he let go of the slim thread of sanity he had left. There had to be a way. He would force himself through the Void and give Rose the words she needed to hear. So what if two universes collapsed, as long as she knew he loved her?

The TARDIS' sorrowful hum took on a disapproving note, but the Doctor ignored it. The plans were already forming in his mind. He could do this. He walked around the console, adjusting controls for the jump. It might be his last, but he already felt like he was dying. If he could see Rose one last time...

The air in the console room shifted, and when the Doctor looked up, a woman in white stood on the other side of the console.

"What?"


End file.
